Diario De Una Ninf Novels & Stories

A fist to the face is a smile price to pay, to keep my sanity!" Akemi placed a hand over her chest. "Instead of the girl of your dreams, I'll be the girl of your nightmares. The girl that makes all your new girlfriends scared. If you think you can run then go ahead and be my guest. Forever, in your memories, I'll be your twisted psycho ex."

They're my only family in the world! Chris gripped the beach railing, his head lowered as he took a deep breath. He had read her diary. He had glimpsed that thick, enigmatic book a few times at the Thompsons', but Lena was meticulous. She never left her diary unattended—it was always with her. Thus, he had only seen its cover by chance. The diary contained Krystal's writings, filled with admiration and adoration for Nicholas. She described his heroic deeds. Lena's entries followed Krystal's.

Tuesday. Dear Diary, I went skinny dipping last night and got fucked by my neighbor. Crazy right? Oh I know. I wasn't into it at first, but then it got super kinky and wow, who knew Dean Martinez could fuck? I didn't. Nina and I were supposed to go skinny dipping in their pool on Sunday, but Nina had some stupid date with her block head of a boyfriend who keeps taking her away. So we scheduled it for Monday. I know, I know, it's supposed to be a school day. And who cares? It's not like one night of fun is going to stop us from learning the next day or whatever.

It is old but seems to be well cared for. “Diary? Who uses a diary now? ” I whispered to myself as I hurried to open it. I was not mistaken. It was indeed a diary. Stoney isn’t a pure stone at all. He’s a softie. Funny that there were still drawings around the notebook cover back then. This is really it. I can already feel the MMK-like story of Cormac. . . the story that will win us over to AFA 2020. The first entry in that diary came to me. It was dated sixteen years ago. March 21, 2004.

He occupies her. And the thing that keeps me up at night? The diary just… ends. Where are they now? Is she still in that house, that bed, that shower, being “washed clean” of a world she never sees? He didn’t just want her body. He wanted her reality. And he got it. Justin’s story isn’t a love story. It’s a horror story about the ultimate triumph of will. And the monster’s victory is so complete, it leaves you wondering if you’re reading the journal of the victim… or the secret, proud biography of the victor.

The desk felt cold in my palms. My blouse hung shredded around my elbows. My skirt bunched around my waist, still twisted. My heels were gone-I didn't even know when. Nick dragged a hand down my back "Look at you. Still dripping" "I can't stop," I whispered. "You don't want to stop," Jake corrected. He leaned in, whispering filth in my ear., “You love being filled. You love how we use your body."

“Though I don’t know what he found so interesting about this specific entry. This diary is enchanted, as you may already have noticed. If anyone other than a duly recognized person tried to open the diary, all they would see would be a few hundred pages of nonsensical, mundane entries written in Gaian. The real form of this diary is an audio recording of whatever the owner wanted to keep safe.” “This entry was dated year 368…That’s like, two hundred and thirty years ago,” I said. “And the woman who owned the diary said something about a Czar. If she was really a Romina ancestor, then she would be referring to the City State of New Moscow, all the way in Western Eurasia.” Dad and the Commande

She hanged the call and I dropped the phone, my heart elated. I was super happy and excited and went back to my diary, opening up a new page and writing on it. Dear Diary, Today I had sex-with a girl and it was one of the best things ever… I wrote down every single detail of how I felt, the times I cummed and the nasty words that I moaned out loud while she stroked my body on all mannerisms. Yours truly,Diane. I heaved a sigh of relief when I was done and laid back on the couch, still naked.

All while she, Almay, the one who raised her, clothed her, albeit barely, was rotting in a dump with a plastic kettle and expired canned food. It was not right. It was not fair. She reached deeper into the suitcase, fingers brushing against worn velvet. She pulled out a small, nondescript wooden box. Her breath hitched. Slowly, she opened it. Inside lay a faded leather-bound diary. The edges were frayed, the gold-embossed letters barely visible now, but they read: “Diamante Lunaria Hernandez.”

Humphrey then suggested her to write it down and gave her this diary. She has been writing everything she has been feeling in this diary…related to... everything that happened that day. She has written about her nightmares… her version of truth of that day…her worries for her uncle and the Grisham’s…. about how grateful was she to the people here….how she was doubtful if she would live or not…about how she missed her mother whom she never met…everything. Everything….except one thing….